For You
by excesssummer
Summary: 1944. Lt. Derek Hough is part of the final push for the Allied Forces, and while the war is taking its toll on him, he is sustained by the memory of a woman waiting for him to return. Will he be able to fulfill his promise to her? Pairing: Shawn Johnson/Derek Hough T.V. Show: DWTS, All Stars. A/U, two-parter. Warning: other cast members make an appearance.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **This two-part story was written for katie k., who gave me the idea after having seen Derek and Shawn dance to "Angel" for their Viennese Waltz. I must say I have never before written an AU, but I found this very interesting and challenging to write, because there were so many back stories I needed to build! I hope you guys find it as interesting to read. :-) Feedback more than appreciated!

* * *

**PART 1.**

The night was cold and quiet, the kind of night that everyone called a hard-on: so cold everything was hard, including everything you had on. Frost covered the ground, turning everything grey, and if you squinted, you could try to imagine that the sparkling lights in the distance were those on a Christmas tree, except, of course, no tree lights ever made that _rat-tat-tat_ sound.

Christmas in no man's land, Derek thought, sighing. Nights like this, sitting in the trenches, waiting for the next artillery attack, he wished he never quit smoking; smoking would have given his hands something to do other than rub them together to keep warm. Better yet, he wished he were back home, back where ...

"Hey," a voice came from his right, "Budge up there."

Despite his being half-frozen, Derek smiled as he inched slightly to his right to make space for Mark, his best friend and practically his brother. That the younger man was assigned to his platoon both pleased and worried him; he was glad that there was at least one person he could count on to watch his back when the fighting got tough, but being a lieutenant and Mark's commanding officer, Derek sometimes worried for his friend's safety. Mark tended to be over enthusiastic on the field, often volunteering for the most dangerous of missions, and Derek couldn't always stop him.

One day, he feared, Mark would take it one step too far ...

"Always thinking too hard," Mark said, pushing the butt of his rifle into Derek's side playfully. "Lighten up. Can't you see? It's Christmas."

Derek sighed. "Christmas doesn't come here, bro," he replied, nodding towards the enemy lines. "Or there."

"Ah, that's bull, but meaning no disrespect, Lieutenant," said another voice to his left, a slight Australian twang to his words. "Christmas isn't a place or a time. It's where your heart is."

"Spoken like a true romantic, MacManus," Derek smiled, addressing the sandy-haired speaker. "But if we all thought like you, no one will be waiting in these damned trenches. We'd all be daydreaming of our little ladies back home."

Mark chuckled. "Little lady, huh? I didn't know you had one, bro."

The men in the trenches joined in the laughter, enjoying the sight of their commanding officer blushing, obvious even in the dark. Derek good-naturedly caught Mark in a headlock, rapping him once on his helmet, then letting him go. "I was speaking generally, bro," he said. "Isn't a crime, is it?"

"No, it isn't," said another voice, this time coming from above. The men stilled immediately, looking upwards at the dark figure that loomed atop them, blocking the faint moonlight. "Although this isn't the best time to be rough housing, Lieutenant Hough, Private Ballas."

Derek, as well as everyone else, snapped to attention, saluting. "Sir. No, sir."

"At ease, men," the figure continued. "Lieutenant, I would have expected better behavior from you."

"Yes, sir." Derek answered, feeling Mark laughing quietly beside him, and inwardly wishing he could do something about it.

"And you, Private Ballas. Quit trying to provoke Hough. It's enough that he has to put up with your antics."

"Yes, sir," Mark responded, then muttered under his breath, "Cranky Goodman."

"Shut up," Derek said through gritted teeth.

General Goodman surveyed his men quietly, then turned away. "A word with you, Ballas," he said. "Everyone else, as you were."

Derek watched Mark turn toward him, frowning slightly. Then he moved off, making his way towards the sandbags piled high against the sides of the trench, scrambling up and over, and following General Goodman in the direction of the officers' tents.

A dark-haired older man went to stand nearer to Derek, watching Mark's retreating figure. "What did he do this time, sir?"

"I don't know, Dovolani," Derek said, shaking his head. "I can honestly say I don't know."

Sergeant Dovolani shook his head as well. "Well, if you don't know, I have a feeling he doesn't, either." He clapped Derek on the shoulder. "But if I were you, I wouldn't worry. Ballas gets himself in all sorts of scrapes, and he always manages to get out."

Derek nodded his thanks, and automatically his sergeant moved off to tell the rest of the men off and have them go back to their posts. A bit of grumbling, a bit of shuffling, and soon, everything was back to the silence that Derek had been contemplating a few minutes earlier.

* * *

There was nothing to be done but to wait.

Mark hadn't returned within the hour, and many of Derek's men had already found various positions to rest and feign wakefulness at the same time. MacManus remained standing, but his eyes were hooded; Derek couldn't tell whether he was awake or not. Sergeant Dovolani was perched beside their artillery stack, but had apparently fallen asleep, if one were to judge by the snores coming from his direction. Their medic, Van Amstel, had rested his head against the sides of the trench; the Chmerkovskiy brothers, Val and Maks, leant on their rifles and on each other.

Derek smiled ruefully, stamping his feet in an effort to stay warm. Would that he could rest so easily, he thought. But while Mark was out, he couldn't; right now, where he was, Mark was his only family, and he had to take care of him. _What on earth could General Goodman be talking to him about that took this long? _

He leaned against the side of a sandbag, popping his neck and looking up, trying to distract himself from morbid thoughts. The stars grew brighter in the distance as the night deepened, the moon shone full and bright, broken only by the mist that came from his breath. The golden moon and the stars up above, he mused. Thank God for the constant things in this world, untouched by time or chaos or conflict.

And his mind drew back, back to a similar night, under the same moon ...

* * *

_"I'm off tomorrow," Derek said, looking down at his shoes, scuffing the ground, trying to sound braver than he felt. "The army says they need every able-bodied man for the final push. The Allies may have taken several territories back, but this offensive will be critical."_

_She said nothing, merely watching him with those hazel-green eyes of hers. _

_"Anyway. I just wanted to tell you."_

_Silence._

_Derek stood up, brushing his pants and jacket off to buy time, holding a hand out to steady the wooden swing upon which they had sat, side by side. He did not want to leave, no, but duty called and, more than anything, he knew how important it was to answer. But there were so many things that he hadn't done, hadn't seen, hadn't experienced. So many things - so many! - that he hadn't said ..._

_"Derek?" she asked suddenly._

_He looked down at her. "Shawn?"_

_"When ... when do you come back, then?" Her voice trembled slightly, but her face was perfectly calm. "Is there a time table?"_

_Derek sighed, looking away into the distance before turning back to look at her. "I don't know." _

_She nodded. "I understand." Patting the seat beside her, she smiled at him: a forced smile, but a smile nevertheless. "Do you remember how our moms used to make us both sit here while they played bridge? Do you remember what we used to do?"_

_He smiled, and sat back down beside her. "You mean from the time you were about seven? I used to pull your hair, for fun."_

_She laughed, genuinely now. "Not that! I meant when I had grown up a bit ..."_

_"You haven't," Derek countered._

_"Oh, shut up! All right. Fine. Do you remember, then, when I was about fourteen and you had just turned twenty-one, and you had decided to enlist ..."_

_Sobering, Derek ran his fingers through his hair. "Yes." He sighed. "We talked. For hours."_

_Shawn nudged his leg. "Well then. It might be a while before we get to talk like that again, so we may as well make full use of this time that we do have." _

_Derek looked at her then, at her eyes that held unshed tears, at her lips that held unspoken words, and saw that she, too, felt the sorrow of parting. And like him, she, too, knew of no way to speak what they both knew but could not yet say aloud. _

_So that night, knowing no other recourse, they talked, like the old days. They talked, and they talked - until the moon rose and the stars came out and the air turned nippy. Somehow during the conversation they had inched closer to each other, their bodies keeping each other warm. Feeling bold, Derek put an arm around Shawn, and was gratified to note that she neither pulled away nor commented on it. Instead, she merely snuggled closer, eventually laying her head on his chest._

_After a while, they fell silent, Derek now putting both arms around Shawn without even thinking about it. She shifted slightly, allowing him to do so even more comfortably. Together, they watched the moon and the stars, the eternal heavens where nothing changed, untouched by time or chaos or conflict ... _

* * *

_Rat tat tat!_

Derek snapped back to attention, his senses suddenly on full alert. All around him, his men had already begun jumping into action, MacManus crawling over to the higher part of the trenches to peek out.

"Enemy forces at twelve o'clock!" he shouted before crawling quickly back down.

Derek cursed. They were coming at them from their most vulnerable side. His trench only had about ten men, and although there were also other trenches around them, he didn't know what their situation was. And - damn it - he didn't know where Mark was, either.

Shaking his head to force himself to focus, he began firing orders. "Chmerkovskiy, give the sergeant the tent's twenty," he barked, and the tall man nodded in response before running to the end of the trench where he could train his binoculars on the officers' tents and later report what he observed.

"Castroneves, Amstel, Farber," he continued, "Man the guns, and cover us. Amstel, you make sure you're within earshot. Might need you in a bit."

"Dovolani, you head up the other side, bring Fatone, Ohno, and Smith with you. If anyone comes, don't let them catch us unprepared." Sergeant Dovolani nodded, then swiftly turned away along with his assigned men.

"MacManus, Chmerkovskiy, you come with me." Derek ran over to the piled sandbags, waiting for his cohorts to join him before speaking again. "We need to get out there, find out where they're coming from. If we can find a way to sneak from behind, we might be able to survive this."

The two men nodded briefly, gripping their rifles tighter. "On my count," Derek said. "One, two ..."

On three, Derek vaulted over the trench as bullets whizzed by. From the corner of his eye he saw both his men jump and crouch, gauging the distance between themselves and the nearest cover, then breaking into an all-out sprint. He saw muzzles flash, heard the sharp report of rifles, felt the hard ground as he moved, feet pounding on gravel. MacManus had reached safety, but he saw the younger Chmerkovskiy stop in mid-lope, going down hard.

Derek swiftly changed course, hugging the ground, making himself as small a target as possible; finally, he had to drop completely and crawl. Blinking his eyes free of dirt and ricocheting pebbles, he managed to reach Chmerkovskiy, putting a finger onto his neck. The younger man groaned, making Derek heave a sigh of relief. Now it was a question of getting him back to the trench, where Amstel was, for patching up.

Holding onto his helmet, Derek raised his eyes to get his bearings. He could see a fierce fight going on, but it seemed to be directed more towards the east side than theirs. Hooking an arm under the injured man, Derek pulled him, an inch at a time, back towards friendly lines. His arms and lungs burned with the effort, sweat stinging his eyes, but he kept his eyes trained towards the trench, developing an odd sort of rhythm: crawl, crawl, stop; crawl, crawl, stop. A few yards away from it, Derek saw a tall man suddenly pop out, dropping quickly to the ground, and crawling towards them.

"Sir," the older Chmerkovskiy said, to which Derek could only nod wearily.

Between the two of them, they finally managed to reach the relative safety of their trench, and lowered the wounded man in. Amstel ran to him immediately, tending to the welling blood on his right thigh. Derek sat for a moment, catching his breath, then looked around. Everyone was still there, save for MacManus; he had completely forgotten about him in his single-minded desire to get Chmerkovskiy back for medical attention. And Mark – Mark still was nowhere to be seen.

"Sergeant!" he shouted, "I need a report!"

Sergeant Dovolani crouched beside him. "It's strange, sir," he began, "We thought they're coming in to ambush. From the looks of it, though, it looks like … like they're actually _running_ towards us. Being driven, or running away. I don't know how, but they didn't even seem to know we were here, until we started firing."

Derek frowned. "Where's that radio? Have we gotten touch with the General?"

"No sir," he said, brandishing the radio. "They seem to be out of range. Nothing but static."

"And MacManus? I lost sight of him."

"Still out there, sir. Last I saw he had taken cover, so most likely he's still alright." Sergeant Dovolani paused. "Ballas, though, sir … I don't know. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Derek said gruffly, gripping the older man's shoulder. "Take over while I head out."

"Where to, sir?" Dovolani asked as Derek walked away.

"I'm gonna find out where that asshole has gone." Forestalling what he perceived was protest, he added, "No complaints, sergeant. It's my duty to make sure all my men are accounted for. If it were you, I still would have gone anyway. Ballas is my friend, but on top of that, he's one of us."

Dovolani grinned. "I wasn't going to stop you, sir. I was just gonna say – good luck. And kick him in the pants for me."

Derek smiled back, then, without another word, clambered up and over, once again aiming and running for the nearest cover as he timed the lull in gunfire. He reached it this time without incident, almost running headlong into MacManus, who was still crouched there.

"Sir," he said. "Chmerkovskiy alright?"

"Yes," Derek said shortly. "What's our status?"

MacManus nodded towards the farther end of the field, where most of the gunfire appeared to come. "Looks like they had come from nor-nor-east, sir. The damnedest thing is that they seem to be running away, not toward. They don't seem to know where we are, or how many there are of us. They're just reacting; I'm betting the gunfire started because our troops spotted them, not the other way around."

"That tallies with Dovolani's observation," Derek said. "Anything about the tents? General Goodman?"

"No sir, nothing. Lights went out about twenty minutes before the shooting started."

Derek looked at the younger man in surprise. "You were awake, then."

"I never sleep on duty, sir."

"Good to know."

MacManus grinned briefly. "What now, sir?"

"We find out what's really going on. Come with me." Derek moved to the left side of their cover, peering out quickly, gauging distance. "Let's go."

Together, they ran-crawled towards the source of the gunfire, taking advantage of the bushes clumped around their camp, covering themselves both with brush and darkness. Soon they could see the enemy forces popping out every so often behind large outcroppings of rock to deliver a short burst before disappearing again. Derek immediately noticed that they had taken odd positions, some facing their direction and some facing the opposite, and quickly concluded that both Dovolani's and MacManus' readings were correct. They _were_ running from something.

Suddenly, gunfire erupted from both sides of the enemies, cutting many down where they crouched, prompting a fresh wave of furious shooting. Derek squinted, trying hard to see; it appeared to be no more than ten or twelve men, appearing then disappearing into cover. One, popping out a few yards away from where he and MacManus hid, moved in such a familiar manner that Derek's eyes widened: Mark!

Mark stood from his cover, aiming his rifle. Intent on his target and not having Derek's vantage point, he never saw another soldier whip around, spot him and aim his own rifle at him.

Breaking cover, Derek ran towards the enemy without conscious thought, fear adding speed to his steps, and saw that he would be too late anyway. Desperate, he waved his arms and shouted a warning: "Mark! Behind you!"

As if in slow motion, with painful clarity, Derek saw the shooter swing towards him instead, and pull the trigger. Vaguely he heard MacManus shout out, Mark scream, but everything else was white noise, everything a blur of color.

In that moment, Derek closed his eyes, braced himself for the shot, and knew nothing more.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Thanks to all who commented! It inspires me to write more ... and to perfect what I do write. Most importantly, thanks to Shawn and Derek whose great work on the dance floor inspire all of us to do great things as well, whichever floor we may have to work with. I hope you enjoy the second and last part of this A/U. :-)

* * *

**PART 2**

_Dawn. _

_Derek opened his eyes, feeling stiffer and yet more content than he had ever felt before. The old wooden swing was not the most comfortable of places to sit in, much less to sleep in, but it didn't matter: in his arms was Shawn, and there was no one else in the world he would rather have had at that moment._

_The first few rays of the rising sun gleamed on Shawn's golden hair, and Derek, watching her, knew a great tenderness that he never would have guessed he possessed. Although fearful that she would wake, he reached out and touched her cheek gently, the temptation to do so too great that it overrode caution. She sighed in response, moving nearer to his touch, her eyes slowly opening._

_"Hey," Derek whispered, redirecting his hand to brush hair that had fallen across her eyes. "Good morning."_

_She smiled sleepily as she looked up, slightly dislodging the jacket that somehow, during the night, Derek had managed to spread between the two of them. "Hey yourself."_

_Derek smiled back. "We stayed out all night. Your mom's going to kill me."_

_"No, she won't," Shawn said, yawning._

_Derek sighed, gathering her back into his arms. "I wouldn't be so sure."_

_"She's just probably going to demand that you make an honest woman out of me, and marry me." Shawn chuckled. "But it's okay. I'm not holding you responsible."_

_Derek stilled. "But would you?"_

_Shawn yawned again, oblivious. "Would you what?"_

_"Marry me." Derek turned to face her, holding both her hands in his and looking into her eyes. "Would you?"_

_She blinked at him. She looked down, where their hands were joined, then again at his face, as if she were trying to see if he had a joke, a punch line coming. "Would I … marry you?"_

_"Yes." Derek reached out to caress her face. "Would you marry me, Shawn?"_

_She frowned. "You've never even said you loved me."_

_"I know." Derek got up from the swing, and, oblivious to the pebbly ground underneath them, knelt on one knee, looking up at Shawn. "So here I am. I'm telling you now." He took a deep breath. "Shawn Johnson, I love you. Will you marry me?"_

_Shawn stared at him for a moment, then looked away. She was silent for so long that Derek began to feel the pebbles biting into his knee, but he ignored the growing physical discomfort, feeling only the beginnings of his gut turning cold. Did she not love him, too? All those years they had known each other – could he have misread what he took for affection and love for something else?_

_She looked back at him. "Derek, please. Sit down. I … let's talk."_

_Feeling slightly numb, Derek sat back down beside her on the swing, dreading her next words. She was going to tell him off, for sure. Maybe she had another? Wrack his brains as he might, he could not think of anyone else in Shawn's life. But if it wasn't that, why wasn't she accepting him now?_

_"Derek?" she asked, concern in her voice, passing a hand over his eyes. "Are you there?"_

_"What?" Derek blinked. "Oh. Right. I'm sorry. I was …"_

_"Not expecting that?" she supplied. "Well, to be fair, I was not expecting that you would propose, either."_

_Derek looked down, unable to meet her eyes. _

_She put a hand out and lifted his chin up. "But please. Look at me. I want you to understand what I'm going to say, Derek." She closed her eyes briefly, as if she were gathering strength. "I … I know this is a very emotional time for you. You're off to God knows where, and we're not sure of … of when you're coming back. I can imagine how … how it might be clouding you right now, making you do things and say things that you don't really mean, or that you would never have said otherwise."_

_Derek opened his mouth to protest, but she forestalled him by clapping her hand over his lips. "At another time," she continued, "I would have been crying with joy, and there would have been no doubt in my heart. But … right now, there's just so much that's going on … I'm not sure how to take it."_

_Grabbing the hand that covered his mouth, Derek kissed her open palm and felt her shiver. "I'm not saying this just because I'm leaving today, Shawn. I'm saying this because it's true, and I cannot go without letting you know. I love you." He reached out to run a finger across her jaw line. "I love you. I'll say it over, and over, and over, and it won't be any less true. I love you. I always have, all these years. I always will."_

_She tugged herself away as if she were burned. "Please, Derek. Don't … don't say that. Please don't make me … don't make me hope …"_

_"It's not hope, it's the truth," he countered, feeling increasingly desperate. "Why don't you want to believe me?"_

_"I do, Derek! I so want to believe you. You don't know how long I'd waited for you to say those words!" She looked at him, her eyes swimming with tears. "But this is not the time to make commitments that you cannot keep."_

_Derek's shoulders sagged. It was true; she was right. He was making promises that he could not keep. He could propose now, but what would that give her? Nothing but empty hope, nothing but cold days and the nameless fear of not knowing. Would he wish that on her, those days of uncertainty and waiting, of possibly endless waiting? And if … if he died on duty, what would it do to her then?_

_He bowed his head. "I'm … I'm sorry. You're right. This is not the right time."_

_Again, she lifted his chin up. "No, no, Derek," she whispered. "It's me who's sorry."_

_Derek nodded. "I understand." Then, unwilling to let go and with a sudden resolve, he caught her hands in his. "But, Shawn … in … in the future, when I … if I … would you …?"_

_"_When_ you come back," Shawn said firmly, despite the tears that were now falling in earnest, "When you come back, and you still feel the same … I will."_

_The sun broke through the clouds in its full risen glory then, reflecting in her eyes with golden fire, and Derek thought he had never seen anything more beautiful in his life. He gathered her back into his arms and this time she willingly snuggled there, as if seeking warmth, trying to be one with the beating of his heart. He kissed the top of her head. "That's settled then," he said, smiling. "Wait for me. When I get back, I'll ask you again, and this time, you'll say yes."_

_She smiled tearfully as she sat up, circled loosely by his arms, a hand over his chest. "So you better come back real quick, because I'm waiting."_

_The old swing creaked in protest as Derek leaned over and kissed her forehead, brushing her tears aside. "Don't worry, baby." He whispered into her ear. "I'm coming back, I promise. I'm coming back for you."_

_I'm coming back._

_I promise._

_I'm coming back, for you. _

_For you, Shawn._

_I will …_

* * *

"He's waking! Oh my God, everyone, he's awake!"

Derek stirred. What was that god-awful noise? It sounded like a really bad cacophony of wailing combined with laughter and general shouting. _Really, _he thought, _one would have hoped for some quiet time. After all those gunshots …_

Gunshots!

He opened his eyes, and was momentarily blinded by the sunlight streaming through the windows. As his eyes adjusted and his ears began to make sense of his surroundings, he saw what appeared to be a great number of people surrounding him. Among them were his parents, his sisters and their husbands, his assorted nieces and nephews – they were all there, crying and laughing and hugging at the same time, beaming at him like he had surprised them all with a great present.

Julianne, his youngest sister, broke away from the rest to sit on his bedside, tears streaming down her face. "Derek! Oh my God. You're awake! Oh my God!"

Derek tried to smile through parched lips. "Hey …" he whispered, reaching out to touch her arm, intending to console, but only succeeding in making her cry even harder.

"We thought we'd lost you," she sobbed.

"Lost me?" Derek rasped. "I … wait. Where am I? What happened?"

"You're at St. Martin's Military Hospital." A doctor in white scrubs, flanked by two nurses, spoke. One of the nurses stepped forward to pour him a cup of water and helped him to drink, which Derek accepted gratefully.

"You've been here for three days, unconscious. The bullet that you took went cleanly in and out, narrowly missing your heart; most men would have died from the blood loss and shock."

Derek nodded; then, still feeling weak, he sank back into his pillow with Julianne's help. "I guess I was lucky then."

"Lucky, yes. Particularly that your men got you out of the field quickly enough that it allowed us to operate, and that you had a great medic back there." The doctor smiled. "That still wouldn't have been enough, though. You're quite the fighter, too. I guess you knew there were a lot of people who wanted you back and were waiting for you."

Derek smiled, almost to himself. "Yes." He looked at his family. "Yes, there are."

"We really thought you were gone for sure," Derek's father said then, his voice choked with emotion. "You gave us quite a scare, son."

"Well, you know me," Derek managed. "I like making an appearance."

At that, they all laughed, a shaky laugh, a fragile moment of happiness and relief, banishing all fears aside.

* * *

It was a broken Mark that saw him that afternoon in the hospital.

"Derek!" Mark exclaimed, coming to the side of the bed, an anguished look on his face. "Oh my God! I'm so sorry … I'm so, so sorry …"

Derek reached out, patting the younger man's hand comfortingly. "It's okay, bro. I'm back in the land of the living, that's all that matters. I know you'd have done the same for me." He paused, frowning. "But what … what happened that night? I don't remember … anything … after …"

"Goodman had ordered a sting," Mark began slowly. "We – me, along with some other volunteers – went all the way around the bridge where we knew, from intelligence, that the enemy scouts were. We ambushed them, and they ran."

Mark shook his head. "The thing was, what we didn't expect was that they would run towards our camp, not _away_. They slipped through several of our gunners, and they retreated. We weren't able to finish them all off in time, so they stumbled upon all of you."

"So that was what took you so long," Derek said. "It was Goodman's plan?"

"Yes," Mark answered. "It was a good idea, but it didn't go as it was supposed to. If we did the sting right, they would have moved back away from the river, and then we would have found out where their bigger camps were. Had that happened, you all would have been told so that we could move in. But they moved wrong, and we panicked. We scattered … we had no back up plan, so we just kept firing. We kept trying to go around them, but they were too fast, and we were really just in over our heads, going solo." He looked down at his hands. "And then I … I thought I had another guy in my sights, so I got out of cover …I never saw that other guy coming … if you didn't … in time … and if you … I'd never have been able to forgive …"

As Mark sat there with tears streaming from his eyes, Derek reached out and gripped the younger man's forearm in silent understanding, and Mark gripped his arm back, hard. There was really no need for any more words, for any more explanations.

Between brothers, after all, there was nothing to forgive.

* * *

A familiar hand brushed his forehead, soft and gentle, this time waking him from a deep sleep. Slowly, he opened his eyes, knowing, even before he did, who it was.

Shawn was leaning over him, tears falling even as she smiled, tenderly stroking his face. "Derek," was all she said.

Derek smiled back and reached out, brushing the tears away from her face. He opened his arms wide for her to snuggle in. She immediately got up on the bed and lay down beside him, her head on his chest, shaking with silent sobs. "Shh," Derek said, kissing the top of her head. "Shh. It's alright, baby. I'm here. I'm here now."

"I almost lost you," she said then, lifting her head and looking into his eyes. "Thank God you came back."

Derek smiled again as he kissed her forehead, and held her tightly against his chest. "For you, Shawn," he whispered. "I promised. I came back for you."

* * *

**EPILOGUE**

It was definitely an unusual wedding.

The bride floated down the aisle, her golden hair shining in the moonlight. Flower girls fluttered white rose petals where she trod, scattering them like droplets of light. The assembled crowd fell silent, blessed by the love that emanated from the bride and the groom, evident even from a distance, even in the near-darkness.

She reached the makeshift altar where the minister stood in front of an old wooden swing. Her groom reached out for her hand and she took it, intertwining her fingers with his. They smiled at each other, lost in a private world of their own making, communing without words.

Uncharacteristically, they immediately drew close together, and the groom kissed the bride's forehead through her veil. She smiled at him, a smile full of love and tenderness that he returned in full measure. Only then did they face the minister to begin their vows, under the stars that grew brighter in the distance as the night deepened, under the moon that shone full and bright – two constant things in this world, untouched by time or chaos or conflict.

**THE END**


End file.
